


If Perchance to Dream

by TrishaCollins



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Baby AI, Gen, Never sleep in sentient machinery, it's a head trip every time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 14:15:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15687066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrishaCollins/pseuds/TrishaCollins
Summary: Kinkade has a cold and James seeks out another place to sleep. It goes weirder than expected. Spoilers for season 7





	If Perchance to Dream

Kinkade was getting over the cold slowly. But in the tight quarters the Garrison allowed for two cadets whose only real use was 'test pilot' there wasn't much space to get away from the noise.

He had finally grabbed bedding, made a token effort at getting dressed, and left their shared room behind to find a place to hide for a few desperate hours of sleep.

Eventually, his feet took him to the hanger. Even Holt was sleeping at this hour and the facility was dark except for safety lights.

He could feel the MFE reach out to him, and a line of running lights brightened slowly.

He didn't even know they could turn on slowly.

"Thanks." He croaked, walking forward towards the ship. As he passed them, the lights went dark, until he was standing in the only island of light in the middle of the hanger, face to face with his ship. 

"You mind? I will probably get germs all over you." He could feel a little prickle of warmth down his spine, and the emergency ladder lit up dimly.

"You are the best, buddy." He climbed up, settling into the warm leather. 

With the amount of cough meds he had swallowed earlier, it didn't take very long to fall asleep.

He was standing at the door of his house, staring inside at the pristine house.

"Mom?"

He could see her sitting on the couch next to his dad, their hands linked. 

He took a slow step forward. "Mom? Dad?"

It has been actual years since he'd been home, and his parents had always been so concerned about whoever was coming to invade their life - next doors gardener, the Uber driver, the Hispanic family three houses down - that they would never leave the front door open like this.

"You should pack your room, James."

"Pack?" He took another step forward, approaching the back of the couch. He wanted to see them desperately. He hadn't seen them. Why hadn't he seen them?

"You should pack, James." His dad said. 

He frowned, shaking his head. "Dad? Mom?" 

"Go pack." His mom repeated.

He stepped back, looking at the backs of their heads. "I miss you."

His dad turned up the TV. 

He watched them, waiting, hoping they would turn around to look at him. They didn't.

He turned away, walking towards the stair. Every step made him feel heavy. The TV fell into a low din of sound, then silence.

When he turned around, his parents were gone. The couch was empty. 

He didn’t call for them again. His door was standing open, the room a chaotic mess. He didn’t remember leaving it a mess, but there were things and bits of nonsense everywhere. 

Frustrated, he started to dig into the mess, unearthing papers and bits of trash, trophies from when he’d thought he was going to be a sports star, a battered garrison brochure he had brought back from the day Shirogane had come to his school. 

It seemed to take forever to make a dent in the pile of trash. He wasn’t even sure how he was sorting it, but eventually some order appeared. A pile to throw away, a pile to give away, and a pile he wanted to keep. 

The pile of things he wanted to keep was woefully small, less than a backpack full. The battered brochure, a few pictures – one of his class, the one before the garrison, the only people he knew anymore were himself and Keith. None of the rest had made it through the first round of testing and aptitude exams. The teacher that had suggested him was up front and center, one hand resting possessively on his shoulder. The him in the picture was grinning, clearly glad of the attention. He had been a smug little jerk. There was a jacket he wasn’t even sure he fit in anymore. There were other little tokens, some he didn’t remember getting. A medal he thought his uncle had worn, the last time he had seen the man. A set of rank bars that weren’t his, a unit patch that he didn’t recognize. A bit of rock he knew was from the moon. A few crushed pennies. An astronomy book from his first class at the garrison. A pocket knife his grandfather had given him.

None of it seemed to make sense. 

He turned, feeling like someone was watching him. “Mom?” 

The door was empty, and the light outside was fading. 

“Dad?” 

Nothing. 

“I’ve finished, I think. Most of this stuff can be donated.” He picked up the few pieces on the floor, tucking the brochure and a ticket from a science exhibit into the small photo album with the loose pictures. The rock, the medal and the rank bars he slipped into the pocket of the jacket, pulling it on. It did fit, comfortably. The heavy denim made him feel warm and protected. “I need to get back to the barracks before it gets dark. Curfew.” 

 

He took a step towards the door. “Can you tell Uncle Nick that the medals are pretty neat? I’ll show them to the guys.”

The light went out, and when he turned around all of the trash was gone, the bed was made, the colors faded. 

It didn’t look lived in anymore.

“Mom?” 

No response. He sighed, leaving through the still open door and walking down the path to the road. 

The MFE was sitting there, wing lights glowing. He stepped up the safety ladder, turning to look at the house. 

Nothing within it stirred. 

Actually, nothing on the street stirred. He put the books down inside the ship and swept his gaze over the empty street. 

“Griffin, I need you on my six!” Vi’s voice cut sharply into his awareness, and he found himself sitting in the cockpit again, the little tokens shoved against the side. He wasn’t in his flight suit, just in the jacket. He was still sitting on the road in front of his house.

“Griffin!” Kinkade this time. 

“There are too many, Griffin. We are statistically unlikely to succeeded without your support.”

“Coming.” He told them, taking one last look at the house. 

It was even more faded than he remembered, the tree in the backyard drooping under the weight of the heat.

“Bye.” He whispered, hands falling to the yoke. 

“Griffin?” 

He jerked awake, slamming his head against the side. “Mhmeh!” 

Sam’s gaze soften. “Did you sleep down here all night?”

“What?” 

“I wish you’d told me you were going to do that, Griffin. I would have probably wired you up. Anything strange happen?” Sam asked, cheerful. 

“wh-How’d I get here? We were….they were in a fight and…” He sat up, checking his instruments automatically. “Was…was it just a dream?”

 

“What did you dream?” Sam asked, looking far too curious. 

 

“Nothing. Just. Weird nonsense.” He leaned back into the chair, working the crick out of his neck. He must have been sleeping weird. 

 

“Well. Did you at least sleep well? I didn’t design them to be slept in.” Sam smiled.

 

He mumbled something in response, shifting his pillow. “Lets just get today over with.”

 

It was easier not to think about.


End file.
